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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834214">I Will Be That Monster</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiticlast/pseuds/Deiticlast'>Deiticlast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Crossover, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:29:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiticlast/pseuds/Deiticlast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>VERY dark! AU where Hermione, Harry, and Willow all face the darkness with ice in their hearts and fire in their veins. Voldemort doesn't stand a chance when you fight fire with fiend fire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Willow Rosenberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Will Be That Monster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b>The following work of fanfiction contains content that may be protected under copyright. All rights are reserved by their respective owners. I believe the use of this content helps fulfill the intention of copyright law to in turn stimulate creativity for the enrichment of the general public, and does not "supersede the objects" of the original for profit. My aim is to advance the knowledge and progress of the arts through comment, criticism, parody, satire, education, or the addition of something new in a transformative work, and in concordance with Fair Use Law, Title 17, United States Code, Section 107. Further, you, by continuing to read, assert that you do not own or have an interest in, nor do you know someone who owns or has any interest in the intellectual property used and abused in this story. Furthermore, you agree that you will not sue the author for the words disseminated here.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>TRIGGER WARNING: There's some pretty horrific stuff gonna happen, though most of it will be inferred.  I tried writing it all, but it gave me nightmares and I completely rewrote it to have less of the ickiness in it.  It's still rough for those who have frayed edges in their minds, so be mindful, as I have warned you now.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Also, I'm looking for a beta to bounce ideas off of that can keep the story on the DL until it's all written and published.  Right now I'm seeing if there's going to be any interest in this before I get too far ahead of myself.  And that's all the Author's Notes, as I hate them and it's hypocritical of me to have a long-ass A/N in my own fics.</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hermione Granger, aged seven and three-fifths years old, was in a snit.  No, scratch that--she was in a huff.  She was much too mature to snit, and “a huff” sounded much less childish.  It was important to get the wording right about these types of things, even in one’s own head.  It was, after all, good practice for when one spoke with adults.  They never took a child seriously; but a prodigy?  That was a different story.  Either way, Hermione Granger was more than a little <i>miffed</i> (yes, good word!) at her parents.</p><p>She’d been out of class and waiting for her father or mother to pick her up--it was her father’s responsibility today, as Mother was scheduled to perform an Apicoectomy at precisely noon--for going on an hour and fifty-two minutes before Head Teacher Roberts had approached her, asking after her ride from school grounds.  Being a day school, it wasn’t meet for the staff to leave before all of the pupils, and as it was his duties to lock up the main building, he needed to assure himself that this strange, yet brilliant, little girl was set to be picked up or if she would, indeed, need to walk to her home.</p><p>Upon consideration, Hermione Granger, top of her class four years running, code-named “Teacher’s Swot,” decided that it was nigh time that she was old enough to walk the four kilometers to her house.  If her calculations were correct--and they almost never weren’t--it would take her about an hour and six minutes to reach her home.  That wasn’t so bad, was it?  She could spend the time calculating expected values for different steps in her trek through the neighborhoods for a probability of outcomes in regards to energy expended and time saved vs time lost using arithmetico-geometric sequences, which was so much fun that she was flush with the excitement of having a real-world use of the absolutely <i>fascinating</i> textbooks Father had allowed her to peruse just this previous evening.</p><p>So caught up in the measuring of her footsteps and the calculations of expected traffic in the final six intersections she needed to cross in order to arrive at home, she did not notice the dirty, dilapidated white van with a faded logo for chimney sweeping services on its side as it passed her once, then twice, nor the final time it made its way to stop just up the street from her.  She did, however, pause in the great working cogs of her brain to notice the rear doors of the vehicle slowly open, the hinges squealing in protest and apostrophic joint pain, and to register the musty dark interior of the van as it gave off a sickly-sweet odor that reminded her of--</p><p>A great, lumbering shadow propelled itself from the bowels of the van with such speed that she was unable to follow its movements as she stood there, frozen, and it was upon her.  Her nose and mouth were inundated with that sickly-sweet taste and she couldn’t breathe.  Darkness fell over her eyes and mind before she could even register the rough hands grasping at her small, frail arms, dragging her into the belly of the white hell beast.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Under blue moon I saw you<br/>
So soon you'll take me</i>
</p><p>The first sensation that hit her was the pain.</p><p><i>Up in your arms, too late to beg you<br/>
Or cancel it though I know it must be</i><br/>
Oh, God in Heaven, everything hurt!</p><p>
  <i>The killing time<br/>
Unwillingly mine</i>
</p><p>	The soft melody, playing off to her left in a haunting parody of song, taunted her, as even its low music made her blood pound in her ears.  What was going on?  Where was she?  And why couldn’t she move?  Or see anything?  Was it just dark, or was the painful crust over her eyes keeping her from opening them very well?  And God, why did she hurt so?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>
    <br/>
    <b>Like I said, there's a lot less here than there was, but trust me, it's for the best.  Anyway, let me know what you think!  Should I continue this?  Should I seek psychological help?  Like and subscribe!  Leave me a love letter in the comment section!  Or, I dunno, just leave a review?</b>
    <br/>
  </i>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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